


Betta

by yeaka



Series: Neon Tetra [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Ears, Animal Traits, Ficlet, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 15:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13367931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis brings his cat to practice; Gladio is unimpressed.





	Betta

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is set in the same AU as some other ficlets wherein hybrid cat!Prom is Noctis’ pet from Niflheim, but it’s stand-alone and you don’t need to read them for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Noctis is late for practice, which isn’t anything new, but it still makes Gladiolus grumble in annoyance. He can guess what’s delayed his prince this time—he was there when the latest royal toy was brought in from a Niflheim raid. Somehow, he thought Noctis would’ve given it up by now—in the end, a cat, human hybrid or not, seems like more responsibility than Noctis would want. He can’t even show up for training on time, let alone keep a sentient pet alive. 

But then, it’s only been a few days, and maybe it’ll take Noctis longer to get bored. The excuse doesn’t ease Gladiolus’ mood. He’s frowning by the time the doors finally swing open, his charge sauntering inside. Sure enough, a wiry blond is hot on Noctis’ heels, practically pawing at Noctis’ side. Tall yellow ears and a long, furry tail boast that Noctis’ friend isn’t _one of them_ , if the rosy colouring and bright blue eyes weren’t obvious enough. Noctis guides the cat—‘Prompto’, if Gladiolus remembers right—over to the wall, where he gestures at the ground.

Prompto plops down like a dog with an order. Noctis pauses to run a hand through his coiffed hair, and Prompto smiles in clear delight, peering adoringly up at his master. There’s something almost _too_ saccharine about the sight that makes Gladiolus look away. He waits in the center of the large hall, until Noctis finally strolls over to him, pausing just a few meters away. 

“This is no place for pets,” Gladiolus chides. He isn’t particularly surprised when Noctis just shrugs.

“’Don’t have anyone to cat-sit.”

“Ignis,” Gladiolus says, and if that weren’t enough, there’s a whole palace full of servants that would follow Noctis’ every word. Noctis ignores the suggestion and sinks into a fighter’s stance, ready and waiting.

There doesn’t seem to be any point forcing the issue, and they’ve already lost valuable time. So Gladiolus turns his irritation inwards, focusing that feeling, summoning the usual cool fire with which he trains his protégé. His feet move into position, hands lifting in anticipation. Then he surges forward with a sudden roar, and his sword bursts into his hands. 

There’s a gasp somewhere on the sidelines, but Gladiolus doesn’t let it trouble him: he’s honed in on Noctis: the only one that matters. He barrels towards that end, fully expecting Noctis’ own smaller sword to block him.

Instead, a flash of pink-gold blurs in front of Noctis’ dark hues, and Gladiolus barely stops himself in time. He skids to a halt, sword pausing just short of slicing into Noctis’ cat. Prompto stands right in front of him, arms thrust out protectively, but face turned away and wincing. Gladiolus has half a mind to bop his head with the blunt side of the sword in penance for such stupidity.

Instead, Gladiolus stumbles back, muttering, “What the _hell_!” 

Prompto cricks one eye open, seems to decide that he’s not in immediate danger, and stretches his arms out wider. Tail on end, he hisses, “I won’t let you hurt Noct!” Before Gladiolus can do more than splutter in shock and indignation, Prompto turns back to ask Noctis, “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” Noctis chuckles, _like it’s funny_. He reaches out to ruffle Prompto’s hair, which earns bubbling laughter and a loving purr. “But I guess I should’ve explained what kind of training I was doing.” Prompto tilts his head, still obviously confused, but Noctis assures him, “It’s okay—Gladio’s my bodyguard. We’re just practicing. He won’t hurt me.”

Prompto doesn’t look entirely convinced. He eyes Gladiolus appraisingly, which makes Gladiolus bristle at the mere idea that he would cause Noctis harm. Lasting harm, anyway. He figures it’s better Noctis get a few bruises out of practice with him than a fatal wound on the battlefield. 

It takes Noctis actually nudging Prompto towards the wall for Prompto to step out from between them. Prompto goes begrudgingly, moving at a snail’s pace until Noctis orders, “Go sit down.” Then he hurries, rushing over to his nonexistent seat, and he perches back on the floor like the animal he is. It belatedly occurs to Gladiolus that the dark-wash jeans and black shirt Prompto’s wearing are things he’s seen on Noctis. Obviously, they’ve gotten close.

And as much as Gladiolus doesn’t appreciate the interruption, he can appreciate that Prompto, at least, is clearly willing to risk his life for Noctis already. At least they have that in common.

Gladiolus and Noctis move back into position, a careful distance away, and before either of them can move, Prompto cheers, “Get ‘im, Noct!” Gladiolus bristles again. Noctis grins confidently. He’s earning himself a rough lesson.

Gladiolus feints to the left, then lunges right, coming at Noctis with his sword in full swing. Noctis dodges to the side in a streak of warp-blue, earning a gasp of admiration from their audience. Gladiolus follows the direction of the stream and finds Noctis halfway across the room, only for him to disappear in another warp strike. Gladiolus automatically braces for the hit, but it doesn’t come. He’s left whirling about, looking for his opponent, all his senses bent on that one thing: _where’s his prince hiding now?_

Except Prompto consumes his peripherals, waving and cheering and filling Gladiolus’ ears with unhelpful, eager and giddy noises. He can even smell a faint whiff of fish, but something more raw and earthy under that, strangely alluring. When he gives in to glancing over, he finds Prompto absolutely _beaming_ , lit up in breathless excitement. Really _looking_ at Prompto, Gladiolus supposes he can see the appeal—with such endearing, expressive wonder all over every facet of Prompto’s sweet face, he is pretty damn adorable. 

That quick distraction is all it takes. Noctis comes out of nowhere, raining down on Gladiolus with two boots against his shoulder blades, and he smashes into the floor with a grunt of pain and defeat. He rolls over, hilt in hand, but Noctis is already standing over him, blade at his throat. Prompto whistles and calls, “You ‘Noct’ him down!”

Gladiolus groans. Noctis snorts, “That’s one worthy of Ignis.” 

Pushing Noctis’ sword away by the flat side, Gladiolus climbs back up to his feet. He knows it’s his own fault he lost that round, but it’s still frustrating. He’s supposed to be the unflappable one, the grown-up too busy teaching his prince to get lost in pretty spectators. Of course, it’s easier said than done when that spectator has inhuman charm.

He decides unilaterally, “Alright, no cats in the training room.”

Prompto instantly wilts, calling over, “Aw, but I wanna train too! Then I can protect Noct!”

Noctis snorts, “’Don’t need it, but thanks.” 

Gladiolus disagrees and counters, “I’ll show you the ropes some other time. Right now, it’s just him and me.”

“Why?” Noctis goads, casual but with a subtle air of _brat_ -dom. “Big, tough Gladio can’t focus just because of one cute cat?” 

Gladiolus can feel his cheeks heating. He knows he’s in a battle that he won’t win. Prompto makes a loud noise that sounds suspiciously like a purr, maybe over being called ‘cute.’ The blush that permeates his freckled cheeks only makes Gladiolus’ condition worse.

But Gladiolus has survived harsher circumstances, so he grunts, “Fine,” and lunges again.


End file.
